


Shattered Glass Ornaments

by TheWaywardTexan



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: And there's not even smut, Awesome Pepper Potts, Can't stop me now, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Natasha is the best bro, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Pepper and Phil are bffs, Pepper is incredible, Phil is sneaky, Safety violations, Tagging things is fun!, Tony Stark/either Bruce Banner or Steve Rogers depending on your ship, Unsafe use of a forklift, fail!Feelstide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:01:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaywardTexan/pseuds/TheWaywardTexan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feelstide Prompt: Tony recounts sterile formal Christmases growing up, and the rest of the team shows him what a *real* family Christmas is like. </p>
<p>Reality: Tony yells. The team is confused. Clint plays detective. Pepper knows everything. The team shows him what a real family Christmas is like with as little sterility as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered Glass Ornaments

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I borked my Feelstide assignment. We have since learned that we do not take on three prompts when even finishing one takes two months at best. We know this now. So, as a bit of an apology and an internal dedication, Feelschatters /might/ just find themselves in the fic. 
> 
> *If anyone would like to remove their reference, please let me know.

"This is bullshit."  
  
Phil finished the last sentence of the report he was working on for Fury, about how to use a cantaloupe as a weapon, only making a non-committal humming noise as an indicator that he'd even heard the archer. He knew better than to drop what he was doing to rush to fix things. Clint was an adult. He could handle himself, and most of the time, Phil got more out of waiting than he did with a barrage of questions.  
  
One more click of the mouse to save the file, and then...  
  
"Seriously. You should have been there, Phil. I can get not liking Christmas. But to call it a 'bullshit commercialist holiday with fake good will and illusions of what family should be, all wrapped in stress, bad cooking, and obligation?' Too fucking far. Especially when we were just trying to help." Clint gave another huff, just about as put out as he could possibly be. "You should have seen the look on Steve's face. I thought he was going to either cry or put his fist through a wall. I mean, even Nat..." He stopped there. The fact that Natasha had even been remotely affected was enough to paint a very clear picture of just how scathing a tirade Tony had gone on.  
  
Phil finally pushed his keyboard tray up under the desk and got up to go sit next to Clint. He draped his arm over the back of the couch, waiting patiently until the other man curled up against his side to press further. It was their own little dance. A way of giving non-verbal cues in order to not cross any boundaries until they were both ready. It had started at the beginning of their relationship and just never went away, thanks to just how easy it made things between them. “Barton, talk to me. From the start.”  
  
“We were decorating the tree downstairs in the lobby. Me, Nat, Steve, Bruce, and even Thor. It looks great right now. All these perfect red and gold glass ornaments, some seriously wicked velvet ribbon garland with shiny gold trim, and even a brilliant gold star. It looks like something off a Christmas card, Phil. Anyway, just as we finished, _Stark_ showed up.” So much for ‘Tony.’ There was a tiny part of Phil that actually wished he was surprised that that particular name came up as the antagonist of Clint’s story. “We just knew he was going to love the tree. I mean, he’d already hired seven guys who I think were contractors to do it, some ‘Kilmer, Kat,  & Tigs Seasonals’ company, but we did a good job. It was supposed to just be a little surprise. You know, to _help_. He just rolled his eyes. And then, when I asked him what he really thought, he went fucking _off_. The guy actually hates Christmas! And I don’t mean in a, ‘God, this season is annoying because I’m undercover as a retail worker and this is the thirtieth time this week I’ve heard the same Christmas songs on loop playing on the overhead speaker,’ way. I mean, the Grinch himself would tell him to ease the fuck up.”  
  
“I see.” As much as Phil wanted to simply scour the entire building for Tony’s hiding spots and taze the hell out of him until he apologized, he doubted that would do much good. Instead, he stayed right where he was and processed the information, his thumb stroking steadily against Clint’s shoulder. If Tony was lashing out in one of his many ways of doing so, that usually meant there was some sort of insecurity involved there. And here Phil had hoped the state of the genius had finally calmed down to ‘stable-ish’ after his interesting breakup with Pepper. That thought did give him an idea, though.  
  
Phil finally cleared his throat as he pulled his phone from his jacket coat and started texting one-handed. The change in position caught Clint’s attention, and he looked up from where he had laid his head on the other man’s shoulder. “Who’re you texting?”  
  
“Had a thought. I’m supposed to meet Pepper in a little bit for coffee and a trip down Madison Ave, but the Concourse Line incident put me behind on paperwork. Go spend some time with her. Find out what Stark’s hiding. Report back to me by 1900 hours and we’ll go from there.”  
  
Clint arched a brow in confusion, unsure whether to question Phil’s idea or the fact that the man apparently spent his free time having girl time with Pepper Potts. “This a mission, sir?”  
  
“Treat it like one. I don’t want this to cause an issue with the rest of the team, and if it rattled everyone, it needs to be addressed.” _Especially if ‘everyone’ included Natasha._  
  
“Yes sir. See you tonight for dinner?”  
  
“The roast is in the oven.”  
  
“Sweet!”  
  
*******************************************************************************  
  
“Seriously. It was just horrible! Steve wanted to light him on fire. Last I heard, Bruce was still attempting to explain the word ‘commercialist’ to Thor. Do you know how hard it was to just get him to accept the idea of a holiday solely based around good will and stories we tell kids? Also, what on earth do they put in this paraffin? It smells amazing. A little like roses.”  
  
“Rose hip oil, aloe, and jasmine.”  
  
“Yeah, I got the jasmine, but I didn’t know they mixed the two scents together that often. I may have to nick some from the cabinet on our way out.”  
  
Pepper shrugged from the pedicure station beside him as she fiddled with her StarkPhone. She had been pleasantly surprised to have Clint tag along with her rather than just going alone. Maybe she could convince him to come back, the next time she wanted a mani-pedi. Low-maintenance company was always a nice change of pace from her usual fare. “They sometimes try different scented oils. It’s nice. You should come back with me next time. Tony’s treat.”  
  
At that, Clint scoffed. “Yeah, if we’re still around him by then.”  
  
“Clint...” Pepper set aside her phone, realising just how serious the conversation had turned. She quietly asked the pedicurists to give them some privacy so they could just enjoy the paraffin soak, then leaned her elbow on the arm of her chair. “... I’m sorry he upset you. Tony can be insensitive, to say the least. Once he gets past Christmas, he has New Year’s Eve to look forward to, so his attitude usually improves. Look, next year, I’ll take the rest of you guys out to celebrate. I know not many of you have a family to go home to...”  
  
“We’ve got the team,” Clint interrupted, unwilling to accept ‘Just leave Tony out of it’ as an acceptable solution. “Pep, talk to me. We don’t have blood family, but we’ve got each other. What did we do wrong? Come on. Talk Tony to me.”  
  
“Computer, computer, Steve's ass, suit, computer, suit, Bruce, suit, Bruce, Steve, computer.”  
  
“ _Pepper_...” Clint whined.  
  
She just chuckled softly with a wave of her hand and nodded. “Fine, fine. But just be warned. The inside of Tony’s brain is a whole different ball game. He can be fairly squishy under that iron shell.”  
  
“I promise I will not use any of this information for evil.”  
  
“Good. Because it’s one of those purely Tony things. Yes, he hates Christmas. His memories of the holiday are all so horribly sterile, they’d make an operating room for brain surgery look like a sewer. He got rid of most of the pictures and tapes but the ones I’ve found are eerie. It’s like they’re scripted. Everything is so utterly perfect that it’s sickening. The presents are all professionally wrapped, the dinner is obviously catered, the ornaments all match, everyone is dressed in their prettiest ‘at-home’ clothes... It’s all entirely fake.  
  
“So Christmas to Tony is pretty much like any major gala event where he has to plaster on a fake smile and pretend he’s having fun, except that it lasts for an entire month. By the time it actually rolls around, he’s worn out and miserable. And don’t get me started on the fact that his parents died on the seventeenth. The press likes to bring that up on occasion, the fucking vultures. That in mind, I only ask him to ever go to one single event every year, and after that, I let him hide out in his workshop until New Year’s rolls around. And that, my dear Clint, is why Tony threw a hissy fit. I’m so sorry. He won’t ask for forgiveness, but can I ask for it on his behalf?”  
  
When she finished explaining, Pepper reached over to lay a dainty hand over Clint’s, trying to meet his eyes. Unfortunately for her, the workings of his brain were already lining up his thoughts and drawing back the string. The sudden warmth on the top of his hand just completed the motion with a silent _twang_ of brilliance. “I know what event you should ask him to go to this year.”  
  
Pepper arched a brow at him, more than a little accustomed to outbursts of madness that could present themselves as brilliance on first conception. “Clint...”  
  
“Trust me.”  
  
**********************************************************************************  
  
“Trust me.”  
  
“Clint, I hate to break it to you, but those words usually manage to invoke the opposite response because now I think you’re up to something. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re up to something because you hopped into my damn car uninvited wearing that shit-eating grin and carrying a baseball bat. If this is an attempt to murder me, I give it two stars. Had better. Do not recommend. Look, whatever it is, wait until January. I’m busy until then.” Tony leaned forward in his seat in the back of his Lincoln and tapped on the privacy partition. It slid open just a crack which was more than enough for him to give instructions. “Happy, get us to the warehouses. Pep said if I did a walk tonight I could skip the stupid Christmas gala thingy this year. I don't even know which nut's putting it on this year. Gohil? Dizmo? Writerson? Maybe it's Dani again. Ryan threw a good one. Plenty of alcohol. Though, where that wine cork went, I still don’t know. Had better crab dip than O'Henry's. Point? I don't have to go.”  
  
There was silence, but the partition closed again and Tony settled into his seat with his StarkPhone, determined to ignore Clint’s presence. Not too hard to do considering the only thing the archer did was silently twist the wooden bat in his hands and steal one of the little bottles of whiskey kept in the mini fridge on the door.  
  
When they pulled into the long rows of warehouses, Tony tapped on the partition again. “We’re good here, Happy.”  
  
Funny enough, the car didn’t stop. In fact, it kept driving, taking a turn down one of the rows that had Tony very confused. “Happy? Happy, we’re good. I’m just going to check the main ones. The ones further back are empty.” When the car still didn’t stop, he attempted to open the partition, only to find it very securely locked. It was then that a bit of actual panic set in. “My god, you are going to kill me, aren’t you? Happy! Happy, I don’t care what he’s told you or what he’s paying you, I’ll double it!”  
  
“Tony, don’t be such a drama queen. We’re almost there.” Clint rolled down the window just a crack, still grinning like an idiot as Tony frantically texted Pepper. Once they came upon a warehouse with smoke trailing out of a vent in the ceiling, they pulled in through the roll-up gate and let it close slowly behind them, locking them inside. It was there that the car stopped.  
  
“Clint, I’m warning you. I will have the entire air force up your ass...”  
  
The archer just laughed as the car door on Tony’s side was opened by a very familiar, suit-wearing gentleman who most certainly was _not_ Happy Hogan. “Barton, stop terrorizing Stark.”  
  
“Phil! Help me. Your crazy boyfriend has a baseball bat!” Tony all but dove out of the car, very quickly putting Phil between himself and Clint, who was doing his best to not die laughing as he got out afterwards.  
  
“So I see. Clint, hand it over.” Phil held out a hand and Clint let him confiscate the bat, but not without making sure he brushed his fingers over Phil’s knuckles with a wink.  
  
Of course, the smoke coming from the far end of the warehouse caught Tony’s eye the second the bat was theoretically safer hands. “Guys, why are there squatters in my warehouse? More importantly... why is one of those squatters Steve? I know S.H.I.E.L.D. has a tight budget, but...”  
  
Phil didn’t feel like answering. Instead, he grabbed Tony by the collar and just hauled him over towards the very interesting gathering. There, amidst three blazing metal trash can fires, was the entire team. They were scruffily dressed, but all of them looked cozy. Natasha was wrapped up in a long scarf and fingerless gloves, while Bruce sported an oversized MIT hoodie that Tony was fairly sure he recognized as having been stolen from his own closet. Thor looked mostly normal, even with the wolverine-print pajama pants, and Steve... that bastard managed to make sweatpants and a thermal undershirt look good. Really good.  
  
A pitiful Christmas tree, barely four feet tall, with several gaps in the branches, stood to one side of a small line of folding tables that were covered in all sorts of food in assorted casserole dishes. Bottles of various alcohols took up what folding chairs were scattered around and almost managed to distract from the odd assortment of cots and even a couple of hammocks strung between a pair of forklifts. And off to one side was a pile comprised of all the red and gold ornaments that had been hanging on the tree in the lobby at the tower, complete with the glittering gold star.  
  
“Alright. Aside from the glaringly obvious safety violations, what the hell is going on here?”  
  
Clint just shrugged as he strode over towards the pile of ornaments and snatched a particularly glittery one. “Your bullshit commercialist holiday wasn’t working for me. Or anyone on the team, really. So, we decided to have _our_ Christmas instead. A real one.” As he continued, Coulson picked up Tony’s hand and wrapped it firmly around the baseball bat, then stepped away cautiously, clearly remembering the man’s aversion to being handed things. “I figured we’d start by breaking the old tradition. Batter up!”  
  
That was all the warning Tony got before Clint threw the ornament at him. A bit of quick thinking at least let the genius put the bat between himself and the flying object, and what little force he used was plenty. Glass and glitter rained down in a shower of spark-like pieces that twinkled in the firelight. The warehouse was almost silent once the tinkling of glass on concrete was done, then, from across the way, Bruce shouted out, “The busted up rocker I used for kindling last year has a better swing than that, Stark!”  
  
“Cram it, fuzz bucket!” Natasha called out playfully, not one to miss out on a little good-natured trash-talking, “Five bucks says the next one's a home run. Come on, Tony. Show 'em you know more than one way to swing!”  
  
The next explosion of glitter and glass was much prettier and much more controlled. It sprayed out from the swing of the bat in a burst of red dazzling fire, like a thousand miniature stars. Much more impressive. A whoop and some applause went up from the spectators as Clint tossed another, then another, and yet another. By the time the pile was depleted, the warehouse floor was a sparkly safety hazard and the entire team had taken at least a few swings. The bat was returned to Tony as Clint hefted up the gold star. The warehouse got quiet again as they waited for the final pitch and watched the archer wind up. Just before he threw it, Tony lowered the bat and held up a hand, stopping Clint in his tracks.  
  
“Eh... maybe we could... save that one? I mean, there's nothing on you guys' pitiful little tree, and I'd hate for it to stand there all naked and boring, so maybe...”  
  
Clint was already chuckling as he made his way around the glitter mine field to where everyone else stood. He held out the star to Tony and nodded towards the weenie little tree. “Go ahead. Bruce picked it, Natasha is going to show us how to string cranberries and popcorn for decoration, and Steve already put the presents under it so only seems fair you contribute, too. That's the fun part about a real family Christmas. Everyone contributes, no matter how small.”  
  
“Indeed, Anthony!” Thor chimed in, “I myself prepared a mighty dish of tiny white grains in the juice of the mighty cattle, carefully sweetened and boiled to share with my brethren. There is a special seed hidden in the dish. Find it, and you shall have the honor of opening your gift first!”  
  
Natasha leaned over to nudge Tony as she gave Thor a small, fond smile. “He wanted to help decorate the tree with either live ravens or frogs, but fortunately, Coulson killed that idea.”  
  
After a small shudder at the thought of a tree full of creatures, Tony headed over to the pathetic little tree. He fluffed up a few of the branches and straightened out the point before plopping the star right on top. It was nowhere near as grand as the massive beast that had been in the tower, but it was absolutely perfect, if only because it was theirs.  
  
The festivities carried on late into the night and after as much crafting, feasting, laughing, and just plain _Christmas_ as anyone could stand, people crawled into their respective bedding options, Tony going straight for one of the hammocks.  
  
With the lovely chaos over, Clint and Phil stayed nestled by one of the trash can fires, snuggled up together with the archer looking just about ready to nod off.  
  
“Looks like my Christmas fairy needs some sleep.”  
  
“Hey, that's super sniper death fairy to you, babe. Though... I'm kind of curious. You said you had your own surprise for Tony when I told you about my plan the other day. Did it get left out with all the other stuff?”  
  
The smirk on Phil's face earned him a questioning look from Clint, but before he could press further, the senior agent relented with a small cough. “I happen to know for a fact from Pepper that Tony hates sleeping on a cot. He'll do just about anything to avoid it.”  
  
“So? We could have gotten blow-up mattresses.”  
  
“I also happen to have been the one to make sure everyone had what they needed to be comfortable when they slept. Mostly it involved rounding up pillows.”  
  
“Okay, so you handled the sleeping arrangements. I still don't see what this has to do with...”  
  
“I _also_ happened to hang a sprig of mistletoe on the forklift just out of sight.”  
  
Clint blinked a few times, putting two and two together quite quickly. “Oh... oh!”  
  
And almost as if on cue, a shout rang out across the warehouse from the direction of the forklifts, “Best Christmas ever!”  
  
The End

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta, my cheerleader, my butt-kicker, and my Director, Sinope. Patches, without you, this would have just drifted off into my pile of unfinished works.


End file.
